


It's a Wonderful Life

by signifying_nothing



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, M/M, not quite canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23122096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: He was trying not to let it bother him, he really, really was. It was just so hard. It was so hard when 'Woosan' was a thing, probably really a thing, not just something they did for fans in front of a camera.When Yeosang didn't have anyone to be quiet with, because Wooyoung was being loud with someone else.when wooyoung starts to distance himself from yeosang, yeosang says something he doesn't mean.something out there in the universe listens.
Relationships: Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang
Comments: 37
Kudos: 289





	It's a Wonderful Life

**Author's Note:**

> me: writes 2 1/2 pages of an au, whatever  
> me, the next day: writes 12 more pages, posts it recklessly
> 
> enjoy!

Yeosang swallowed hard, pushed his hair back and took a very slow breath. This was fine. Everything was fine. He probably should have seen it coming, really. Everything was a joke until it wasn't, and while he and Wooyoung had been ribbing one another for being friends for five years—for meeting and changing companies together and basically becoming adults side by side—apparently...

Well.

He was trying not to let it bother him, he really, really was. It was just so hard. It was so hard when 'Woosan' was a thing, probably _really_ a thing, not just something they did for fans in front of a camera. When Wooyoung and San were hanging off on another all the time, when Wooyoung turned Yeosang down to hang out with San instead, when...

When Yeosang didn't have anyone to be quiet with, because Wooyoung was being loud with someone else.

He tried not to let it hurt. He hid it pretty well on camera. Kept ribbing Wooyoung, poking fun at him, only now... Now the joke behind the words was to hide something negative, instead of something positive. Still hiding something, either way.

He sat at the top of the parking garage near their building—because they could still do that, could still make it through places without getting swamped, and he hadn't wanted to be at home. He sat on the top floor of the parking garage and rocked himself back and forth on his skateboard. It wasn't daylight anymore, but it wasn't dark either, so he could probably keep doing tricks against the medians and the rails, but he didn't want to. He just wanted to...

Sit there and be quiet. Let it ache in his chest somewhere no one could ask him if he was okay, if he was hungry or tired or needed a hug. He just wanted to be left alone, like he always did when he was sad.

Yeosang hated how he sniffed, rubbed at his eyes with the long-sleeved shirt covering the heel of his hand. He should go inside. Go home. It was getting cold. The wind was pretty hard, up here above street level.

He didn't want to go home.

He sniffed again, thought of the way Wooyoung would make that doe-eyed face at him and ask if Yeosang was okay the very _second_ he walked in the door, and suddenly he couldn't stop the tears no matter how hard he tried. God, he felt stupid. Just because him and Wooyoung had been friends for years didn't mean that Wooyoung had somehow miraculously developed the same feelings as Yeosang—that his friend was precious, meant to be kept tucked in close, meant to be spoiled and comforted and loved, in the... Well. The real way. Not hearts and flowers, but holding hands and strong support and the 'forever' kind of way. Wooyoung probably didn't feel that, and Yeosang felt like an idiot for feeling that. For letting his stupid, rampant emotions affect him so much.

Against his own considerable will, Yeosang's tears turned into little hiccups. Then into little sobs. He moved to hide behind the platform where the elevator came up, bent over his knees with his hands fisted in the sleeves of his overshirt. He had four layers on, so he wasn't too cold just yet, but he would be soon. He'd have to go home soon, whether or not he wanted to.

He curled up smaller and smaller. He didn't want to exist. If he didn't exist, he couldn't be hurt. He'd be impervious. He wished he was invisible. He wished he wasn't real.

Yeosang heard the elevator come up even though there were no cars up here and sat up, rubbed at his eyes and gave a big sniff. He swallowed hard and wiped at his face with his cold hands to at least attempt to make it look like he hadn't been crying for who knew how long. He let out one heavy, shuddering breath before Hongjoong stepped off the elevator, wrapped in a coat, carrying another, and looked around until he spotted Yeosang.

Yeosang managed to make it about four seconds under Hongjoong's “leaderly hyung” expression before he had to push his head back into his arms to keep crying. He hadn't cried this much since before debut. He hadn't cried this much since...

Hongjoong didn't say anything. He just draped Yeosang's jacket over his hunched body and sat beside him to wait. Hongjoong always waited for him.

When he reached a break in crying to pull his jacket tighter around himself like a blanket, Hongjoong spoke.

“Jongho said you left a few hours ago,” he said, his high voice sweeter than it usually was. More careful. “Seonghwa wanted me to come and get you for dinner.”

“I'm not hungry,” Yeosang said, his voice thick and low.

“I know,” Hongjoong said, nodding. “I know you're not, Yeosangie. But you should still eat.”

It was worse somehow, being called something like that by someone who was _barely_ older than him, anyway. Sometimes Yeosang wished he could really could Hongjoong and Seonghwa as 'hyungs' but the truth was they were both only months older than him and he had a hard time seeing them that way—especially Seonghwa, since he was the baby in his own family, but the eldest in their group.

“I don't want to,” he said, miserable. “I don't want to.”

“I know you don't want to come home,” Hongjoong said, as gently as he could probably manage, when Yeosang was being such a fucking drama queen, crying at the top of a car garage because his best friend didn't love him anymore. Had probably never loved him in the first place. Had probably been head over heels for San the second they met and Yeosang had just forced himself to not see it. “I get it, Yeosangie, I do, but you haven't eaten all day and you've been up here for hours. You're gonna get sick.”

“I don't care,” Yeosang said.

“I do,” Hongjoong replied. “Everyone else does. Atiny do. You're always asking them to stay healthy, so you can't set a bad example.”

He hated when Hongjoong guilt-tripped him like that. It wasn't fair. Yeosang coughed, rubbed at his eyes.

“I don't want to see them,” he whispered.

“I know,” Hongjoong said, scooting closer, his little body not doing much to block the wind, but he was warm. “Yeosangie I _promise_ I know, but you can't stay up here forever. They're already asking where you are, where you've been for the past few weeks. You're lucky Yunho and Mingi haven't told them yet.”

“They don't _get_ to miss me,” Yeosang hissed, hateful and hurt. “It's their fault.”

“But they do,” Hongjoong said. “Look. I'll send someone up in an hour, and you _have_ to come back, Yeosang. You're seriously going to get sick.”

“Whatever,” Yeosang mumbled, but Hongjoong got up anyway with a sigh, running his small hand through Yeosang's wind-mussed hair.

“I'll see you in an hour, Yeosangie.” Then Hongjoong was gone just as quickly as he came and Yeosang... He didn't move. Not for the next hour, save to pull on his jacket and rake his fingers through his own hair. He cried into his forearm and used his other arm to cover his head from the cold despite his hood. An hour later on the dot, when the sky was completely dark, a set of big hands pulled Yeosang up without his permission. A pair of big arms wrapped Yeosang up into a huge coat, and Mingi's chin rested on top of Yeosang's hair. Mingi didn't say anything—despite the image he gave to the public, Mingi knew when to be quiet—and twisted them back and forth for a while, just keeping Yeosang warm in his coat. Then he bent to pick up Yeosang's skateboard, and held Yeosang's hand all the way down the elevator and up the street, all the way into their apartment. He pulled Yeosang right through the living room, past the kitchen to the bedrooms. Pulled Yeosang into Yunho's room and flopped down on the bed, tugging Yeosang on top of him. He yanked a throw blanket over their bodies. They were still dressed, but Yeosang didn't protest. He didn't have the energy. He didn't have the mind to fucking care just then—that they were in Yunho's bed, that they were missing dinner, that... Anything. He just didn't care.

Yeosang pulled himself to rest his heat on Mingi's chest, and ignored how his tears itched all over his cheeks. He just wanted to enjoy Mingi's warmth and silence, and sleep.

But Yeosang wasn't a very good pretender. He wasn't a very good liar, despite all evidence to the contrary—especially not when it was something important he was lying about.

So a few weeks later, after successfully dodging both Wooyoung _and_ San whenever he could in any way he could, he finally got caught by Wooyoung, who was sitting on the floor with his back to their bedroom door. He looked up at Yeosang where Yeosang had sat up at seven in the morning, thinking that finally Wooyoung was gone, so it was safe to get up now.

“So are you going to talk to me now or what,” Wooyoung asked, straight to the point like he always was. He put his phone down and crossed his arms, hair in his eyes. Yeosang stared at him for a few seconds, feeling himself burn under Wooyoung's accusatory expression, and wondered how the hell he could get out of this.

“Don't you dare,” Wooyoung said, standing up as Yeosang started to lay back down and pull his blankets over his head. “Don't you _dare_ ignore me, Kang Yeosang.”

“How anyone could ignore your noisy ass, I have no idea,” Yeosang mumbled, finding safety in sarcasm and annoyance. He shoved his blankets off, grabbing for his jeans from yesterday to yank up his legs, pulling on a fresh t-shirt from the laundry pile above his bed.

“You've been managing it just fine,” Wooyoung said, his eyes angry, and hurt. Yeosang wanted to apologize, wanted to hug Wooyoung, wanted... He wanted to make it better, but at the same time he just wanted Wooyoung to stop making it _worse._

“What the hell are you talking about,” Yeosang asked, grabbing for an overshirt, and a hoodie. It was probably cold out. They didn't have a schedule today, so he was free to do what he wanted. And what he wanted was to get the hell out of this room and away from the way Wooyoung was standing there with his arms crossed and his face pinched. His voice was soft and distressed when he spoke.

“Yeosang. You're such a bad liar. Can't you at least look at me when you're lying to me?”

Yeosang took a deep, deep breath. Focused on making himself as still as possible. Thinking of himself as a marble statue, unaffected. He looked up at Wooyoung as he grabbed his sweatshirt and yanked it over his head and all of his composure went to hell because what the fuck right did Wooyoung have to look that upset? He was the one who left Yeosang behind, he was the one who always turned him down, he was the one who never answered Yeosang's texts. He was the one hanging off of San like their hips were connected. He was the one spending his nights in San's room while the rest of their group traded off spaces like staying with Yeosang was the worst thing that ever happened to any of them and he was alone more nights than not.

“Leave me the fuck alone, Jung Wooyoung,” Yeosang said, hissed, fury and hurt coming out despite his will to be made of stone. “I don't want to talk to you right now. Get out of the way.”

“Yeosang—”

“ _Move._ ”

Wooyoung stared at him, hard and unforgiving, and left the room. Slamming the door behind him so hard that someone down the hall shouted in surprise. Yeosang pulled a beanie over his hair, slung his bag on his shoulder and headed for the door. Grabbed his jacket, stepped into his old skate shoes, picked up his board. Took his keys from the wall and was out the front door before anyone had a chance to ask him where he was going, or how long he was going to be gone.

As it turns out, Yeosang was going to be gone for a very long time. In a manner of speaking.

~

Once, in an interview before all this happened, where they were asked to give advice to their younger selves, Yeosang had jokingly said, 'Don't meet that seventeen year old Jung Wooyoung!' He hadn't meant it seriously—hadn't even been able to keep his composure, feeling like such a _jerk_ after he said it. He'd spent that evening spoiling and sucking up to Wooyoung, cuddling and consoling him, apologizing a million times even though Wooyoung said it was fine with a laugh in his mouth.

Don't meet that seventeen-year-old Jung Wooyoung, he'd said.

Don't meet Jung Wooyoung.

Don't meet Wooyoung.

~

What if Kang Yeosang had never met Jung Wooyoung?

~

Yeosang didn't go to his usual parking garage, instead opting for one further away. But he still just boarded, sliding against railings, hopping up on medians, twisting his board under his feet. His jacket and bag were sitting at one side of the roof, and he stayed there for hours. For hours and hours he stayed there, until he was exhausted, all his anger burnt out in exchange for sadness.

His notifications had been ringing out fairly regularly, each little sound a prick in his conscience. _Ping, ping, ping._ He probably had a million missed calls... Hongjoong, Seonghwa. Mingi, probably. Maybe even Wooyoung. Yeosang sat down on his board to pick up his phone, and it went off in his hand even as he sat there. _Ping._ He went to swipe the notification away and paused.

His background photo was a picture of the eight of them at the MAMAs this past year, in their dark suits. They were all smiling, looking happy to even be there, and they had been. But this... The photo was different. They were still all smiling, but instead of a row of four and four, there was... A row of four and a row of three. Yeosang stared at his phone for a moment, trying to figure out what was wrong—

He wasn't in the photo. Their hair colors were different, and Yeosang was nowhere to be seen. It hadn't looked like that this morning, it hadn't—it had been normal when he left the house, because he'd used it to check the time and then to keep himself busy on the bus.

But there they were. Seonghwa, Hongjoong, Yunho, Mingi, San, Wooyoung, and Jongho. All in dark suits, all smiling. And he wasn't there.

Something in the world shifted, like the entire planet jerked to one side. Yeosang staggered over nothing in the process of standing up, slamming his knees and one palm into the ground, scraping them brutally. He hissed, tried to at least wipe his palm off on his jeans, and then his phone was ringing.

Yeosang stared at the contact.

_WORK-EDEN_

“Hello?” he asked, trying not to let his voice shake.

“Yeosangah, where are you? You're late. Can you get here by noon?”

Yeosang pulled his phone away from his face—it was noon, what, how could it be noon, it had just been nearly four in the afternoon—

“Yeah,” he said, after swallowing. “Yeah, um. Sorry, I was—”

“Doesn't matter what you were doing, just get here. They've got a music video shoot today and they're leaving in an hour and a half.”

“Okay,” Yeosang said. Eden hung up, and Yeosang licked his lips. Okay. Okay, this. This had to be some kind of prank or something, there was no way—and he'd misread the time on his phone, these things happened.

He wasn't far from KQ's building, at this parking garage, so he skated there, staying off the sidewalk and not wearing his headphones like he usually would. His heart was pounding too hard, he wouldn't even have heard any music anyway, probably.

He hadn't made it three steps into the building after using his card access when one of their managers grabbed him by the arm and tugged him along.

“You're late,” he said, scowling up and down at him. “And you're a mess. What are you _wearing._ ”

Yeosang looked down at himself. Tie-dye sweatshirt, light grey jacket, torn-up grey jeans, pull-on black Vans, bag on his shoulder, skateboard under his arm. He looked up at the manager, who waved a hand back and forth while shaking his head.

“Whatever, we don't have time for you to change. Go get your camera, you're in charge of shooting the log today. Don't fuck it up again.” Yeosang was shoved off to where he knew their equipment room was—he met another one of their managers there, who looked at him with a soft kind of sympathy.

“Hey,” she said, as she handed him a camera. “Are you okay? That was rough, the other day. I'm sorry, I should have stepped in.”

“I,” Yeosang swallowed. “I'm f. Fine, I—what are we doing today?”

“It's the first shoot for ' _Answer_ ,'” she said. “You can leave your board and bag here, Yeosangah, I'll lock them up. Are you sure you're gonna be warm enough?”

“Yeah,” Yeosang answered distractedly. Answer? They'd shot Answer _last year._ At the end of the year, obviously, but it was _May._

Then Yeosang walked outside with the manager. It was not May at all. There was snow on the ground, as though time had rewound six months while he was in the building. The cold bit into him, but he just zippered his jacket and held the camera, climbing—

Climbing into the front seat of the small van that held Hongjoong, Seonghwa and Jongho.

“Good luck today~” Jongho was laughing as he buckled himself in. “99 Line can be loud by themselves for a while.”

“That poor camera guy,” Seonghwa said, smiling. His hair was... Was dark, okay. And Hongjoong's was white, Jongho's was black. Yeosang's own, when he frantically pulled a part of his fringe down, was black and bright white-blonde.

“Speaking of hair, when are you getting yours colored, Yeosang-ssi? I know Jang-ssi said it stood out too much, but I think it looks cool!” Jongho's voice was warm and sincere and Yeosang almost choked to be addressed so sincerely but his absolutely disrespectful maknae.

“I, um,” Yeosang shrugged. “Hadn't really decided yet.”

“You should do galaxy hair,” Hongjoong suggested, crossing his legs. “That blue, green and purple thing. I bet that would look awesome.”

“I think it should be pink,” Seonghwa said. “It'd look really cool, right? Black and pastel pink.”

“Oooh, Yeosang-ssi, you'd look very cool with light pink hair. You should do your whole head that color.”

“Y. Yeah,” Yeosang nodded, turning back toward the windshield. “You're probably right.” Oh god, he was going to be sick. Oh god. Oh _god_ what was _happening._

Th three of them entertained themselves for the rest of the drive, playing games and talking quietly. Yeosang tried to put himself together, looking frantically through his own phone. His gallery, which before had almost two thousand pictures in it, had less than two hundred. There was a locked photo folder he couldn't access that didn't have any title, and luckily it seemed that all of his work contacts and notes were still there, as was his resume and CV, which had him listed as a trainee and assistant dance instructor at BigHit before a knee injury put him out of his job there, and he'd come to KQ to do camera work, which... Which had been his focus of study for his whole semester in college before taking leave to 'work on his skills more practically.'

Oh god.

Yeosang felt nauseous as the van stopped at the building where he remembered filming _Answer,_ pressed a hand to his roiling stomach. He'd managed to open the door, but not get out of the van, when suddenly Hongjoong was in front of him. Short, messy Hongjoong, still sleep-rumpled despite the hour and looking at Yeosang with such... Such familial concern that Yeosang felt like a butterfly on a pinboard.

“Listen,” Hongjoong said, his voice soft. “Listen, I know—Wooyoung was out of line this weekend, and I already talked to him about it but maybe you—you should stay out of his way today, okay, Yeosang-ssi? Just... Don't engage with him. He's still pretty volatile.”

Yeosang nodded, because what the fuck else was he going to do, and got out of the van. It wasn't going to be hard to avoid Wooyoung. Or—or any of his friends, really. He was so disoriented and freaked out but the camera in his hand was already starting to feel like it was _his,_ like it was fit to his hand from wear. But he was in charge of shooting the log today, the ATEEZ Log for their youtube channel. He'd probably have to interact with them. He'd just... Try to be quiet about it. Out of the way. Small.

He was good at that. Especially when he was anxious.

Shooting went almost exactly the way he remembered it, save that his parts weren't there. They'd been taken over by Yunho. His dance parts had been filled by Wooyoung. And... Wooyoung's set had been switched with Seonghwa's which was... Strange. It looked odd.

“Um,” he said, holding his camera and standing near the director. “I think Wooyoung-ssi should be in that set?” he finished, pointing towards the open set, where they'd been dropping ash-looking stuff on Seonghwa a few minutes ago. “Wooyoung-ssi is... You know, he's really good with big, free movement and stuff—it'll look good with the ash, since it's so slow and he's not. Seonghwa-ssi is better with stills, small and elegant movements, so maybe he should be in the fabric tunnel instead?”

He tried to keep his voice down, tried to let himself be heard only by the director. The director looked down at him, thoughtful, and nodded.

“Mm. That's a good point.”

Yeosang stayed out of the way—shot Seonghwa and Hongjoong while Wooyoung re-shot his scenes in the ash set, looking just as beautiful and heart-breaking as Yeosang remembered. He looked like a lover, lost in the snow and trying to get back to where he wanted to be. He was beautiful.

“You're staring,” Seonghwa murmured over his shoulder. Yeosang stiffened, turning away from the set back to Seonghwa, who gave him a small, sad smile. “Sorry, Yeosang-ssi. I didn't mean to scare you.”

“You didn't,” Yeosang lied, and Seonghwa gave him the 'hyung' look, which Yeosang had never liked. He wasn't _that_ much older than Yeosang in the first place!

“Hongjoong already told you, right? That he talked to him?”

Yeosang nodded. Slowly, like they was being formed out of clay, memories were being... Placed in his mind. They weren't his, but they were. The camera in his hand _was_ his. He was twenty-one, he'd been filming ATEEZ before debut. He'd dropped out after his first semester at college. He'd wrenched his knee so badly as a trainee and assistant dance coach at BigHit that the healing time had been too long for him to retain his employment there. It didn't bother him any more, but he'd always been interested in cameras and filming, so he'd decided to focus on that instead.

Up until last weekend, he'd been one of the primary videographers for ATEEZ, but it had been decided that they needed a team and he... Didn't need to be on it. He'd probably just move to doing editing from now on.

Wooyoung had gotten angry with him over Yeosang suggesting something about footwork. He'd... What had he said?

 _Nothing,_ Yeosang reminded himself, refusing to get overwhelmed by these, these _fake_ memories. They weren't his! He wasn't a videographer! He was—he was a _performer._ He _danced,_ he _sang._ He—he was a _member_ of ATEEZ.

Wasn't he?

He'd said something to Wooyoung about how if he pivoted on his other foot he might have more success with the move he was trying to do, which had been bothering him for days. He'd said it quietly, gently, from the far side of the room where he was setting up the camera for their dance practice. And Wooyoung, known for being a bit high-strung and easily upset, had _reamed_ into him. It had been—it had been brutal, and unkind, and it was a good thing there hadn't been any cameras rolling because Wooyoung had all but backed Yeosang into a mirror and had been hissing something about how he didn't need a failed back-up dancer to tell him how to do his job.

Yeosang had been so startled, so _hurt._ Mingi had grabbed Wooyoung and dragged him out of the room—Yeosang had gathered his things in fast near-silence and left the practice room, fleeing the situation. He hadn't seen them since. No wonder Hongjoong and Seonghwa were so worried about him.

But it wasn't the first time he and Wooyoung had gotten into it. It wasn't that they were at one another's throats but it was clear that Wooyoung didn't care for Yeosang, and Yeosang just did his best to stay out of Wooyoung's way as much as possible, not wanting to cause a fight.

“Are you okay?” Seonghwa asked, and his voice was so warm, just the way Yeosang remembered it. He kept—it was so hard, none of this was real and he kept forgetting that none of this was real, none of this... None of this was true. It was just a dream, or something. He had to be dreaming.

He wanted to wake up. He wanted to wake up _right now._

“Yeah,” Yeosang said, voice cracked and dry. “Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, Seonghwa-hy—ssi.”

Yeosang could really, really use a hyung right now. Barely older than him or not.

He made it through the filming. He made it through the trip home, back to the office to drop off his camera. Promised to be in on time to start editing the next morning. He made it back to the minuscule studio apartment he lived in, took his shoes off and set his skateboard on the floor before throwing himself to the bed, grabbing a pillow and sobbing into it. No. No, no this wasn't real, this couldn't be _real._ This was—this was a bad dream, it had to be a bad dream, it—it couldn't be—

Yeosang grabbed desperately for his phone, unlocking it through his blurry vision and scrolling through his contacts. All work numbers. None of the members. None of his friends. What the hell was this, what kind of nightmare was this, and how did he wake up from it?

He tapped on his gallery. Those two hundred photos and the locked folder mocked him. Where were the photos of him and Mingi, Yunho, San and Wooyoung? Where were the pictures of Jongho lifting all of them at least once, San's face contorted into a shriek in every single one? Where were the pictures of Hongjoong and Seonghwa being the married couple they all knew they were, no matter how much they tried to hide it? Where—where were his _friends,_ what—

The memory came unbidden and hard, striking him right in the chest. _Don't meet that seventeen-year-old Jung Wooyoung!_

Yeosang's stomach dropped. His heart squeezed and he ran to the sink to throw up. Panting, he ran the faucet, stared around the room. He'd—this was someplace else. Somewhere... Some horrible, horrible world where he'd never met Wooyoung. Where they'd never been trainees together, where Wooyoung hadn't followed him to KQ but gone there on his own without going to BigHit first. Where seventeen-year-old Kang Yeosang had never met seventeen-year-old Jung Wooyoung.

It was too cruel. It was too cruel to be so close to the man who had become his best friend, and yet so fucking far away. It wasn't _fair._ He missed Wooyoung—missed all of them—he wanted to go home—

But how did he get there from here?

He couldn't stay here. Couldn't stay here in this space that wasn't his, it wasn't his, he needed to go somewhere familiar, he needed to go somewhere _safe._

So he did.

~

But more importantly, what if Jung Wooyoung had never met Kang Yeosang?

~

Wooyoung chewed on the inside of his lip. He didn't feel like crashing Mingi and San's VLive so he stayed in his bedroom—the only one with an extra bunk. The company hadn't tripled any of them up to spare expenses, thank god, and Wooyoung had drawn the long straw. But having his own room meant he had a lot of time to himself, time to think, time to...

To feel _bad._

He'd been feeling bad for a long time. Weeks, maybe. It had all come to a head last Friday, when he'd basically assaulted one of their cameramen—no. Kang Yeosang. He'd basically assaulted Kang Yeosang, because... He wasn't sure why. He and Yeosang had never really... It wasn't that they didn't get along, just that they didn't vibe well. Yeosang was dry and sarcastic and he teased a lot. Wooyoung was passionate, got riled up easily, didn't like being teased.

Then Yeosang had said something about his dancing, and Wooyoung—who had been holding himself in tight reins for ages—had finally snapped.

It was good advice, Wooyoung realized later, after he'd had some time to cool off and Hongjoong had come in and lectured him about respecting the staff and more importantly respecting Yeosang because he spent a lot of time with them and 'Wooyoung needed to get over whatever the hell his problem was before it started to really affect their work.'

Wooyoung _tried._ He really did. Yeosang just... Rubbed him the wrong way, that was all. He just. He felt like something Wooyoung couldn't quite remember and wasn't sure he wanted to. But at filming that day, Yeosang had avoided him like he had a plague, and before they'd left—when he and Seonghwa were reviewing their last shots before they wrapped up for the day—Seonghwa had mentioned, too casually to be unintentional, that it was Yeosang who suggested the director give Wooyoung the big, open set beneath the ash fall.

They were beautiful shots. Really beautiful.

It wasn't a secret that Yeosang had a good eye. His camera work was always good when they watched the ATEEZ Logs together or even when Yeosang just gave them copies of the B-rolls, always stuff worth laughing about, always 'idol mode off,' always just them having fun. Yeosang seemed to think those rolls were more important, which... Which was nice. It was nice of him to think of them like that.

And here Wooyoung was, being an asshole, because...

Jesus. Because he and Yeosang didn't get on very well. What the fuck. He was such a dick. He _knew_ that, even without Hongjoong basically yelling at him about it for an hour. He shouldn't have said anything he did, he shouldn't have—but his feelings, the ones he was trying very hard to deny having—were frightening him, and he didn't know what to do about it. San hadn't known what to tell him, either—had just hugged him and promised that if he thought of something, he'd let Wooyoung know.

Wooyoung got down off his bed. He pulled on jeans, threw some joggers and a clean pair of sneakers into a equally clean gym bag. At least it was easy to keep a neat room when you were by yourself, even if it was a little lonely. He packed a t-shirt and tank top, tucked his hair under a beanie and put a pair of glasses on.

“I'm gonna go to the studio,” he told Hongjoong, who squinted at him.

“Take your phone.”

“I've got it.”

“Back by midnight.”

“Yessir,” Wooyoung nodded, slipping out the door. The studio wasn't too far away. Which was good. He felt jittery. Too anxious to really think properly. He just wanted to be alone for a while, wanted to feel safe., and he knew where to go to accomplish that.

So he went.

He went to the studio, let himself in, and headed down into the basement, where his favorite practice room was. Even though it was seven at night, the room was occupied. Which it shouldn't have been, because their filming ended and hour ago and everyone who would have been using the space had gone home. Wooyoung was ready to just shove the door open, when he took the precaution of glancing through the glass to make sure it wasn't one of their instructors in there.

It wasn't.

It was Kang Yeosang, with his eyes closed and a pair of wireless buds in his ears, singing and dancing to _Pirate King_ like he'd been one of them performing it on stage. He wasn't even a back-up dancer for them. But he was performing—it was weird, it was like he was performing a piece of the choreography Wooyoung hadn't noticed was missing until just now. Including that brutal part at the beginning of the... Well, 'chorus,' kind of. Then after that, he did _Treasure._ Then _Hala Hala,_ then _Say My Name._ He stopped for a moment, tapped his earbuds, and then moved into _Wonderland,_ then _Win._ Yeosang moved like he'd been practicing the dances forever, like he'd learned them since the beginning, and even though that was weird, seeing him perform _Answer_ and _Horizon_ to an empty room was just surreal, since that choreography was new, even for them—so Wooyoung had no idea how he could have known it so well.

Then... Then Yeosang danced to _Aurora,_ and Wooyoung watched as he opened his eyes to watch himself in the mirror and struggle to keep them open, his face visibly red and wet even from the dark of the hallway. He made it to the second bridge—where they got on their knees a second time—and just slumped down, face in his hands, his black-and-blonde hair sweaty and sticking to his neck. His body was jumping like he was crying and even if Wooyoung knew what to say, there was no way he was going into that room right now.

Wooyoung realized that he'd been sitting there, staring like some kind of creep for the better part of an hour. He moved away from the window and got up slowly. Now that he was concentrating on something other than listening to the music in his own head, he could hear it. That Yeosang _was_ crying in there. Who knew why.

Wooyoung chewed his lip, backed away from the door. Backed away from Kang Yeosang dancing like he was a member of ATEEZ, singing along with all the words, moving like ATEEZ was a group of eight, instead of seven.

Something... Something was wrong, something was... Off. Wooyoung didn't know what it was, and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out. Following his gut feelings always got him in trouble. So he went back to the apartment instead to find everyone still awake, watching a movie. Wooyoung went to his bedroom, instead of staying in the living room. His half-empty bedroom. It had never felt so empty before.

Why did it feel so _empty?_

He sat down on the floor, crossing his legs, and grabbed for his phone. The B-roll edit from the last ATEEZ Log was still in his e-mail inbox. He downloaded it, grabbed for his headphones to watch, to listen.

It was just the seven of them having fun, horsing around, being obnoxious. But Yeosang had filmed them like it was the most important thing in the world, naturally finding angles, and Wooyoung felt as though someone watching it might think they were a part of the group. Like one of them was holding the camera. He even laughed, spoke and teased—probably why the clips had been rejected as A-roll—but he never once turned the camera on himself. Like he was a ghost. Just a voice, just a point of view. A formless paradigm with a low voice and a slight lisp.

“ _Jung Wooyoung-ssi!” Wooyoung turned toward the camera, grinning, his shirt half open. “Don't you think this is too sexy?” A hand reached out to button up his shirt and Wooyoung laughed, grabbing the hand and one side of his shirt, pulling it out to expose more skin._

“ _Don't you think it's not sexy enough?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows to the sound of a raspy little laugh._

“ _Flirt somewhere else!” came Jongho's yell._

“ _I'll flirt wherever I want!” Wooyoung had shouted back, grinning over at Jongho, but the camera didn't move from his face and chest. Didn't move from where he was still holding Yeosang's hand and the lapel of his shirt, sweaty with laughter in his teeth and wrinkles around his eyes. Not even when Wooyoung turned back to the camera and his smile softened to something warm, their tangled hands resting on the bare skin of his upper chest._

Wooyoung practically threw his phone, heaving for air. Fuck. _Fuck._ Had that—had that really been him, had he—had he actually looked at Yeosang like that, like he wanted nothing more than to hold his hand forever? Like he'd been about to bend his head and kiss their interlocked fingers?

But when Wooyoung played the clip again, it was just the first part. Right up until Jongho shouted. Then he let go of Yeosang's hand and moved away to go after Jongho but the cut was off, was awkward. Like the recording had been abruptly stopped, then started again. Like it had been there, but now it was gone.

In his half-empty room, Wooyoung swallowed dryly, and wondered how he didn't choke on absolutely nothing at all.

~

What if you never meet the person you're supposed to have forever with?

~

Yeosang had been trapped in this hell for almost four weeks. Four weeks of being unable to see his friends, being unable to sleep properly, feeling worse and worse every single day, even though all he did was sit and edit using a program he somehow knew how to use.

It was starting to feel real, this... Horrible reality. Yeosang was starting to... Not _forget,_ but his memories of his other life, his real life, were starting to feel like they were the imaginary things. He kept looking at his phone and seeing that picture of seven members, that locked gallery folder. He kept dancing, after everyone else was gone—in the back basement practice room, the one he and Wooyoung always used. He danced until he was exhausted, sang until he cried. He slept in there once or twice, though no on seemed to notice. He was effectively an office worker, he supposed that no one was _going_ to notice the state he was in.

Four weeks of existing in a place where he, as he knew himself, didn't exist—and he was starting to disappear. He kept notes in his phone, religiously—everything he could remember, about himself and his friends as he knew them. About awards they had won, places they had been, songs they'd performed. He recorded himself dancing their choreography and singing their songs.

Made voice recordings of things he remembered, things he knew, his voice wobbling and going hoarse. Terrible pathetic things that he had to get out somehow or he was going to go insane.

Aside from that he just... Kept his head down. As much as he could. Worked, kept his secrets, slept. Sometimes remembered to eat but not always. Wooyoung and Hongjoong had always been getting on him about that, about not eating. They were probably the only reason he _was_ eating, so it shouldn't have surprised him that, one evening after resting his head on his desk, he woke up on a doctor's bed, feeling like he'd been run over.

“Aah, Sleeping Beauty,” a nurse said as she pulled back the curtain surrounding him, smiling. “How are you feeling?”

“...How long have I been here,” he asked, groggy.

“Well, your officemate brought you in yesterday, so... About thirty-six hours.”

Officemate. So he was still fucking _trapped_ here.

He couldn't help it. He started crying, pushed his left arm over his eyes. The nurse clicked her tongue at him.

“You're going to be here for at least another few hours, Kang Yeosang-ssi. So I'm going to give you some more fluids and pain meds. You're in pretty bad condition, you know.”

Yeosang couldn't respond with his lip between his teeth or without sobbing, so he didn't respond at all.

~

Do you really believe fate is so cruel?

~

When one of the managers murmured that Yeosang had been taken to the hospital, everyone had ben concerned. _Not acting like himself,_ they said. _Not at all._

But Wooyoung had snuck up to the cubicles while everyone was in a meeting. A glance at Yeosang's desk—completely impersonal, no touch at all to show it was his—he found Yeosang's phone on his desk. He'd snatched it before anyone could catch him. Phones were the best way to figure people out these days, and frankly, Wooyoung was so curious and agitated that he practically fled once practice was over, running to his room and closing the door, plugging Yeosang's phone in and confronting the lock screen.

It wasn't Yeosang's birthday, which he'd found out through snooping in employee files. It wasn't ATEEZ's debut day, either. Wooyoung pursed his lips, thought back to that B-roll. The way his hand and Yeosang's had been a breath away from his own lips where he'd been about to kiss them.

_0714_

Got it.

The day Yeosang had come to the company. The day they'd met.

The home screen was the seven of them. There were four folders—gallery, audio, video, documents. The gallery only had about two hundred photos and one locked folder. He'd come back to that. The video files were recordings of Yeosang dancing, singing. Even singing _From,_ which he had no reason to know as well as he apparently did. The documents were notes, lots of notes that made no sense about each of the members, about choreography and awards and friends and BigHit and... And all these things that couldn't possibly be true.

Wooyoung went to the audio folder, tapped on the longest file, and then went back into the gallery, to look at that locked folder. He started to think, to mull over how to unlock it, when— When what Yeosang was saying in the recording started to pierce his consciousness, so he was forced to actually listen.

 _My name is Kang Yeosang, and I've—I know this sounds so fucking crazy but I've—I've been brought to a, I don't know, a reality, I guess, where I never met my best friend. Where I never met Jung Wooyoung. I can't—I don't know how to get home, this all feels like such a fucking nightmare and I just want to go home—even if I have to deal with Wooyoung and San being together it's, it's better than being here, where Wooyoung doesn't know me at **all** I didn't mean it, I didn't mean what I said, please. Please I just want to go home— _And Yeosang's voice broke into a thousand pieces, the sound of his phone being put down, the horrible sound of muffled crying—the ugly, heaving kind. The kind that choked a person, was choking Yeosang. It made Wooyoung start to tear up out of sheer sympathy.

_Please. I just want to go home. I want Wooyoung. I didn't mean it. I can't take this, this is so much worse. I'd—I'd rather have to watch him and San be in love, I'd rather fucking die than take another month of this—_

The audio cut off abruptly, and Wooyoung stared down at the gallery folder and tapped it. It wanted a passcode.

_112699._

It opened.

It opened, and inside it were photos that couldn't exist, couldn't be real. Because they were photos of... Photos of them, the seven of them, and... _And_ Yeosang. Selfies and short videos, Mingi screaming and San shrieking and Jongho breaking apart apples while Yunho laughed in delight. Hongjoong working at his laptop, Seonghwa being gross with his aegyo. Photos of Yunho, Mingi, San, Wooyoung and Yeosang, some of them decorated with stickers and text, _99 LINE FOR LIFE!!_

These... These weren't real. They couldn't possibly be real. But they were. They _were._ There they were, all of them, a team of eight, instead of seven. _Seven as One!_ became _Eight Makes One Team!_ and Wooyoung had no idea how he could have ever thought of it differently? That was their greeting, that was how—and—

Wooyoung scrambled to YouTube, clicked on 'Answer.' There Yeosang was. In the video, in all their videos. Searching his name and ATEEZ brought up whole fansites and profiles and pictures and forum comments, news article comments—

_Yeosang-oppa seems really sad lately :(_

_+230 -5_

_\--right? he seems so depressed and no one notices T^T_

_\---don't you think wooyoung notices?_

_\---+174 -6_

Wooyoung choked. Thought of—of an argument, thinks about hanging out with and all over San because he—he didn't know how to deal with what he was feeling for Yeosang, especially since they slept in the same room and he didn't want to slip up and do something stupid—

—and Yeosang, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt, _leave me the fuck alone, jung wooyoung—_

And of course Yeosang got defensive when Wooyoung confronted him. He always got defensive, he hated examining his own emotions, hated even admitting to _having_ them most of the time. That was what Wooyoung was for, interpreting Yeosang for everyone else, even if he was getting more expressive on camera, he was still a mystery everywhere else. They'd been friends for five years, they'd been—they'd been at BigHit together, Wooyoung had followed him because he trusted Yeosang, because he didn't want to be left behind—

— _I just want to go home—even if I have to deal with Wooyoung and San being together it's, it's better than being here—_

Yeosang thought Wooyoung and San were together. Yeosang thought Wooyoung and San were _together,_ together. That was why he was so upset, that was why he'd been avoiding them for weeks, fuck, even Mingi and Yunho had noticed—

“Maybe you should talk to him about it, Wooyoung.”

“I think you need to talk to him. Really soon.”

 _Don't meet that seventeen-year-old Jung Wooyoung!_ Yeosang had said in that interview—and then proceeded to whine and fuss and apologize and spoil Wooyoung with all the hugs and treats he wanted, all the annoying cheek-kisses he wanted to give for almost a week. _I didn't mean it!_ He'd kept saying. _Wooyoungah I didn't mean it!_

It had been since then, hadn't it. That he'd _really_ been avoiding Yeosang. Because Yeosang had folded him into his arms and hugged him close and kissed his hair while they were in Wooyoung's bed and said—

_Aah, Wooyoungah, you know I love you, right? I love you so much._

But he'd thought Wooyoung was sleeping. His voice had been so low, the kiss to his hair so slow and warm and intimate. Like they were lovers, instead of friends.

“Yeosang,” Wooyoung panted, jerking up, dropping the phone from his grip and running out of the bedroom he shared with Yeosang, he was supposed to be sharing it with Yeosang, that's why the empty room never felt lucky and instead felt more like a curse.

“Where's Yeosang?!” he almost shouted as he skidded into the hallway. San blinked at him from down the hallway.

“Weren't you two just super pissed at one another like. Three hours ago?”

“Where is he,” Wooyoung said, already moving back into the room—the full room, the room full of Yeosang's things, his stupid drones and his messy clothes and his collection of stupid little knick-knacks he got from fansigns. He yanked on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and hoodie. Pulled on his jacket, stepped into his shoes, grabbed his keys and ran out of the house before anyone had a chance to ask him where he was going, or how long he was going to be gone.

As it turns out, Wooyoung wasn't going to be gone for very long at all.

~

When fate wants her to, serendipity finds a way.

~

Wooyoung checked every parking garage he knew Yeosang went to. It was almost four in the afternoon when he got to the sixth one, there Yeosang was, moving to sit on his board.

“Kang Yeosang!” he shouted, practically running across the top floor of the garage to where Yeosang had just dropped his phone onto his jacket and was standing up, flinching a little. “Kang Yeosang come here _right now!_ ”

Yeosang looked like a little kid bracing himself for punishment. But he turned toward Wooyoung anyway, and didn't back away when Wooyoung slammed into him, arms around his shoulders, their ears pressed together, both cold with the wind. Wooyoung held Yeosang tightly, tighter, tighter as Yeosang held on to him, too.

“I'm sorry,” Wooyoung said, knowing he had to say it first, because Yeosang never could. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry I didn't mean to—I didn't mean to make you think—”

“It's my fault,” Yeosang said, his voice thick. “I didn't—I shouldn't have yelled, I—”

“I love you,” Wooyoung said. It flew out of his mouth without permission like a bird from a cage and he didn't try to catch it. “Yeosang, _I love you._ Not—I'm not with San, I don't—not like that, he's my friend, Yeosang he's just my friend but you said—and I freaked out after it's my fault—”

Yeosang stood there, still in his arms, though his fingers slowly tightened in Wooyoung's jacket.

“You. You what?”

“I love you,” Wooyoung said, grinning, feeling better every time he said it. “I love you, Kang Yeosang, _love_ love, like, the forever kind. I promise I'm not teasing, I mean it, Yeosang I mean it. I mean it, please believe me, please don't—I'm not teasing you I'd never tease you like that—”

Wooyoung felt Yeosang's hands move up his back, clench hard into the fabric of his jacket. He felt Yeosang shake. Felt Yosang's whisper, more than heard it.

“I love you too. I love you too Wooyoung I'm _sorry,_ I didn't mean it, I didn't—”

“I know,” Wooyoung promised, tucking his chin onto Yeosang's shoulder, feeling Yeosang's forehead on his own. He was such a baby when he wanted comforting. So needy. “I know you didn't. I forgive you, it's okay. It's okay.”

Wooyoung didn't know how long they stood up there in the cold, hugging like small children, but he didn't care. All he cared about was that when they separated, Yeosang was holding his hand, cheeks and eyes red, but mouth tilted up in a smile. All Wooyoung cared about was that, when he leaned forward and tipped his head on the absolute privacy of the parking garage roof, Yeosang leaned forward, too. Tipped his head, too. Met Wooyoung's mouth with his own in the softest, most delicate of kisses.

“I love you,” Yeosang breathed when they parted.

“Love you, too,” Wooyoung said, kissing Yeosang's cheek, then his forehead. “Come on. It's cold, and you left your phone at home.”

“No I didn—”

Yeosang turned to look at his jacket and skateboard. Sure enough, his phone was not there. He spent a second staring, blinking several times before Wooyoung nudged him.

“Get your coat, hyung's gonna yell at us if we don't get home soon. I've been gone for like. Hours.”

“Me too,” Yeosang mumbled, pulling on his coat and holding his skateboard under one arm. He held Wooyoung's hand for as long as Wooyoung could make him (down to street level.) When they got home again, after kicking their shoes off and hanging up their coats, Wooyoung took his hand back. Walked with him across the living room, down the hall. Grinned wildly at San, who gave him an excited face and two thumbs up as Yeosang flushed and made a mortified noise. At least they managed to avoid getting a lecture, by virtue of Hongjoong and Seonghwa not being immediately visible.

Once they were in their room, Wooyoung closed the door and locked it. Yeosang's phone sat, innocuous and innocent, on the floor and Yeosang stood there, looking awkward and a little scared. Wooyoung reached out, took one of Yeosang's hands. Tangled it with his own and brought their interlocked fingers up to his mouth to kiss them, smiling at Yeosang over them.

“I love you,” he said, with all the warmth, affection and passion in the world.

“Wooyoung—”

And because Yeosang had never really been any good with these kinds of words, Wooyoung let Yeosang's kiss speak for him. It too, just like Yeosang himself, was warm and affectionate and passionate, and all the wonderful things in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> again, please forgive my e key x_x


End file.
